


Vacation Plans

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-04
Updated: 2002-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Donna goes on vacation, how does Josh cope?





	1. Vacation Plans

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Vacation Plans**

**by:** Evelyn

**Disclaimer:** Aaron Sorkin owns everything.  
**Category:** Romance, Josh/Donna  
**Spoilers:** Everything through Season 3  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Author's Note:** Isn't an Amy-free universe delightful?

I'm making the assumption that Mr. Sorkin will return to an Amy-free universe by the first commercial break in September. And maybe this is what happens next! :-) 

Many thanks to Shelley for her wonderful editing and great insight into all things Sorkin. And, most definitely, for keeping the faith and making sure the rest of us do too!

"No, absolutely not." 

"It's a once in a lifetime opportunity." 

"I don't care if it's a once in *my* lifetime opportunity, there's no way in hell you can go." 

"Josh, I haven't had a vacation in four years. I'm asking for four days off. Give me a break." 

"We're in the middle of a campaign that's tougher than the one that got us here in the first place and you want four days off to go island hopping?" 

"We're not hopping. We're staying in one luxurious place for four days. I'll even come in when I get back Sunday night." 

"No. Besides you have, as you've so often told me, alabaster skin." 

"You're worried about my skin?" 

"The skin cancer rates, Donna, are skyrocketing." 

"I appreciate your concern, but that's what they make sunblock for. I promise to protect my skin." 

"And still the answer is...no." 

"No to what?" Leo asked, standing in the doorway to Josh's office. 

Josh and Donna exchanged glances, and the blonde assistant started straightening the files on her boss' desk. 

"Donna wants to go on vacation for four days and I was reminding her that we were in the middle of a campaign here," he smirked, his face looking remarkably similar to a seven-year-old school boy tattling to the teacher. 

Donna glared and then gathered up some papers on the desk, turning to leave. She considered sticking out her tongue. 

"Where?" Leo asked. 

"St. Bart's. My roommate, Susan, won a raffle. Five days, four nights in a beautiful island paradise. It would cost me almost nothing, but....," her voice dropped, "I know. I know. We're in the middle of the campaign." 

"You've got to eat at La Mandala. It's the best place to enjoy the sunset, and the jumbo shrimp with ginger sauce is to die for," Leo suggested. "And when you go to Carl Gustaf, be sure and get Chef Patrick Gateau, it's a chilled chocolate cake with a warm, moist center." 

Donna blinked, then smiled. "I do love chocolate." 

"So go buy a Hershey bar," Josh broke the mood. 

"When would you leave?" Leo continued. 

"Late Wednesday night, coming back early Sunday afternoon." 

"I don't suppose the cake would travel well," Leo mused. 

"I could bring it back and then we could try and reheat it, just slightly, in the microwave?" Donna offered. 

"No. Maybe it's better as a memory," Leo thought out loud. 

"Hello? We're in the middle of a campaign. We're working 18-hour days here. The only Gateau," and he made those air quotation marks, "we're eating is a cupcake from The Mess," Josh said with appropriate indignation. 

"Oh for crying out loud," Leo snapped. "Donna's taken, what? Two days off in four years?" he looked over to the now grinning assistant. "Let her go. You'll manage, and what you screw up, she can fix when she gets back," he turned to leave, but stopped. 

"You really think the cake would travel well?" 

No sooner had Leo gone back to his own office, than Josh spun around to face his assistant who hastily wiped clean any trace of a grin from her face. 

"You knew he'd been to St. Barts," he accused, jabbing a finger for emphasis. 

"Nope, not me. Just my lucky week, I guess," the grin sliding back in place on her alabaster face. "I give you full credit for this one. I wasn't going to mention the free vacation, but you....." she shrugged, then finished collecting the files strewn over the desktop, as Josh glared in silence. 

"What am I going to do if you're not here?" Josh said quietly. And for a moment, it seemed like a larger question than who was going to answer the phones for the next few days. 

Donna reached over and squeezed Josh's shoulder. "You'll be fine. There'll be an experienced temp filling in. Don't worry about it. If you have any problems, you can always ask Ginger or Bonnie, even Margaret for help. It's only four days, Josh. You won't even notice I'm gone," Donna said soothingly. 

Josh looked at her intently. "You really want to go on this trip, don't you?" 

She paused and thought for a moment about the past nine months, ending with the death of Simon Donovan six weeks earlier. Then she nodded. She wanted a rest, a break from the pressures of work and swirling emotions. "Yes, I really do," she said firmly. 

"Okay," he said tentatively. He stopped for a second, and then smiled. "Wait, it won't be so bad. You'll have your cell phone, so we can talk everyday..." 

"Nope." 

"What do you mean, 'nope?'" indignation returning in full force. 

"I mean I know you, Joshua. If I take my cell phone, I'll never see the sun shining in this island paradise." 

His face fell, and worry lines instantly appeared on his forehead. 

"Make you a deal," she countered. "I'll take my laptop. I'll check in for e-mail occasionally. That way if there really is an emergency, I can message you whatever you need." 

"And Josh..." he looked up expectantly. "Thanks." 


	2. Vacation Plans 2

**Vacation Plans**

**by:** Evelyn

**Disclaimer:** Aaron Sorkin owns everything.  
**Category:** Romance, Josh/Donna  
**Spoilers:** Everything through Season 3  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Author's Note:** Isn't an Amy-free universe delightful?

I'm making the assumption that Mr. Sorkin will return to an Amy-free universe by the first commercial break in September. And maybe this is what happens next! :-) 

Many thanks to Shelley for her wonderful editing and great insight into all things Sorkin. And, most definitely, for keeping the faith and making sure the rest of us do too!

* * *

"This wasn't so hard," Josh mused as he wandered down the halls toward his office. Granted it was only 6:30 a.m., and Donna had left at 10:00 p.m. the night before, but maybe he'd overestimated how much he needed her for getting through the day. 

He passed her darkened desk and paused. Donna almost always beat him to the office, regardless of how early he got in. "Hmmmm." 

He flipped on his office light and surveyed his desk. It was messy, just like he'd left it the night before....which was about 30 minutes after Donna had raced from the West Wing to Dulles to catch the chartered flight to St. Barts. 

Once she'd left, he'd drifted into CJ's office. 

"Donna get off?" 

"Yup. I don't think this is such a good idea. You know skin cancer rates are skyrocketing and she has that really pale skin," he explained sincerely. 

"She's taking waterproof sunblock, Josh, with an SPF of 45," CJ said, with just a hint of condescension in her voice. 

"Still, you never can be too careful. Besides what's she going to do there?" and maybe there was a touch of whine in his voice. 

"Besides eat, drink, laugh, sleep, and otherwise live a normal life for four days...absolutely nothing." And this time, Josh was sure he heard a hearty dose of exasperation in the press secretary's voice. 

He got up and decided to call it an early night. 

He awakened at 5:30 a.m., disgruntled because it was way before the usual 6:30 wake-up call from Donna through which he grumbled each morning. But of course, this morning there wasn't going to be a wake-up call. 

He tossed and turned in bed, flipped on CNN, heard the late report of the game between the Mets and the Minnesota Twins, reached for the phone and hit speed dial #1. Donna was never going to believe that, as he had predicted, Piazza had hit a triple the night before off Santana. 

"This is Donna Moss. I'm sorry I can't come to the phone..." He hung up the phone and took a shower. 

Elizabeth, the temp, popped her head in Josh's office promptly at 8:30 a.m. "Thank God you're here. Did Donna leave you a number? I can't find it anywhere," Josh said frantically, his papers strewn on the floor. 

"Maybe I can help?" 

Josh looked at her suspiciously. "Can you tell me the number of troops that were stationed at Karshi Khanabad last year when it was used as a launching site for military operations in Afghanistan? We've got a report on possible nerve contamination being found at the base and we'll need to check soldiers who have been stationed there." 

Elizabeth blinked and backed out of Josh's door. She came back in less than a minute with a post-it-note in her hand on which was printed, in a unique handwriting, a 10 digit telephone number. "It's 9:30 in the morning there," she whispered before leaving Josh's office. 

"Bonjour." 

"Uh, hello. Connect me to Donna Moss...er, s'il vous plait," Josh demanded. 

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but the cottages don't have telephones. Would you like to leave a message?" 

"I've left four messages already," he growled. 

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, I haven't received any calls from the States," the operator apologized. 

"I didn't call. I left e-mail messages and she hasn't returned any of them," he fumed. 

"I see, Monsieur. Would you like me to take a message to Mademoiselle Moss and ask her to check her e-mail?" 

"Yes," he answered, then added, "Merci," and hung up. 

He thought a moment and rolled his chair to his computer and started to type. 

>   
> __  
> To: DMoss@whitehouse.gov  
>  From: JLyman@whitehouse.gov  
> Subject: Where are you??????????
> 
> You said you would check your e-mail...one crisis after another. Call me asap. 
> 
> Joshua

He waited 30 minutes, made two phone calls, pissed off two Senators, and checked his e-mail again. 

>   
> __  
> To: JLyman@whitehouse.gov  
>  From: DMoss@whitehouse.gov  
> Subject: Crisis
> 
> We arrived at 5:30 in the morning, which means I've had four hours of sleep. 
> 
> 1\. The following does not meet the definition of a crisis and warrant my return trip back to D.C.: 
> 
> "The Mess is out of blueberry muffins." Eat a bran muffin, it's better for you. 
> 
> 2\. While I'm thrilled that Mike Piazza is back in the saddle so to speak, I will not comment on Mr. Santana, the pitcher for the Minnesota Twins, but perhaps it is a tad harsh to make references to the circumstances of the man's birth. 
> 
> 3\. I personally can guarantee that the temp, Elizabeth Angelo, is not a Republican. Furthermore, I've seen her file and yes, she passed a security clearance. And just figure it as good karma that you finally found an assistant who will bring you coffee...that won't last past Sunday :-) 
> 
> Donnatella 
> 
> P.S. The weather is 88 degrees, and yes, I'm using sunblock


	3. Vacation Plans 3

**Vacation Plans**

**by:** Evelyn

**Disclaimer:** Aaron Sorkin owns everything.  
**Category:** Romance, Josh/Donna  
**Spoilers:** Everything through Season 3  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Author's Note:** Isn't an Amy-free universe delightful?

I'm making the assumption that Mr. Sorkin will return to an Amy-free universe by the first commercial break in September. And maybe this is what happens next! :-) 

Many thanks to Shelley for her wonderful editing and great insight into all things Sorkin. And, most definitely, for keeping the faith and making sure the rest of us do too!

* * *

She had answered four e-mails from Josh before Susan closed the laptop and insisted that Donna join her on the beach, in lounge chairs, facing the ocean, with tropical drinks, even though it was only 11:30 in the morning. It was, in fact, bliss. 

Donna adjusted her broad straw hat, stretched out her legs, wriggled her feet in the white sand, and opened her book. A white jacketed waiter approached, holding a cell phone. 

"Mademoiselle Moss?" 

Donna was tempted to deny her identity. She arched an eyebrow and put the receiver to her ear. 

"Donna?" his voice sounded ragged. 

"Yes, Josh. How can I help you?" 

"Come home." 

"No. What's the matter?" 

"Leo insists that I have to go to the NEA reception tonight." 

"Yes. I put that on your calendar two weeks ago." 

"It's black tie." 

"Yes." 

"Who's going to fix my tie?" 

"Leo?" 

"Donna!" 

"Buy yourself a clip-on one for tonight." 

"I'll look like a dork." 

"I have to go, Josh." 

"Wait...I hate to go to these things." 

"We had fun at the birthday party for Mrs. Bartlet. I mean once I got in." 

"Well, once you got in I had fun too," he said softly. 

She smiled to herself. "You'll be fine." 

"What? The connection is breaking up." 

"I said you'll be fine," shouting now because the static was making it difficult to hear. 

"I only agreed to go to this thing tonight because Yo-Yo Ma was playing and you said you wanted to go," he pouted, the connection clearing suddenly. 

"Get an autograph for me," she laughed. "Got to run. My wind-surfing lesson is in five minutes," and she clicked off the phone, just as she heard some sputtering on the other end. 

She waved to Susan, who was heading off to the resort's spa, and wandered down to the dock to wait for the instructor. Digging into her beach bag for sunblock, she was struggling to reach some spots on her back. 

"Can I help you with that?" 

A tall, blonde, well-tanned man of about 35 took the sunblock from Donna's hand and motioned for her to turn around. He smoothed on the lotion and deftly rubbed it in. 

"Thank you," she smiled. 

"I'm Tim Jackson. Are you here for the lesson?" 

"I thought I'd try it," she said hesitantly. 

"Ever sail?" 

"Not really. I've been out on a boat a few times, but I'm just a deck hand." 

"But you're comfortable in the water?" 

"Sure." 

"Here put this on," and he handed her a life jacket. 

"This doesn't inspire a lot of confidence," she said, quickly donning the jacket. 

"Better safe than sorry," he laughed. 

For the next hour, Tim taught Donna the basics of windsurfing and by the end of the lesson, she was skimming the waves, blonde hair blowing in the breeze, grinning from ear to ear. They headed into the beach and she threw herself down on the warm sand. 

"That was so much fun," she said, toweling off. 

"Hungry?" 

"Yes, I really am." 

"Join me for lunch?" Tim asked, stretching out a hand to pull her up. 

"Okay." She donned a beach coverup, while he slipped on a t-shirt. 

They walked up to a large patio, dotted with glass tables which were shaded with boldly striped umbrellas. Several of the waiters nodded to Tim and the maitre d' quickly pulled him aside. They talked urgently for a few moments, and then Tim returned to Donna's side. 

"Is there any problem? We can go somewhere else to eat if you prefer," she suggested, wondering if employees were allowed to eat in the main dining room. 

"No," he smiled. "This is fine." He pulled out Donna's chair, waited for her to get comfortable, before sitting in a chair opposite her. 

"The buffet is delicious, but you can order from the menu, if you prefer." 

"The water makes me hungry," she laughed. "I think I'll go for the buffet so I can have seconds." 

"Or thirds," he offered. 

They both filled their plates and were eating with gusto when a waiter approached, offering a cell phone. 

"Mademoiselle Moss?" 

"No." 

"You're not Mademoiselle Moss?" The waiter seemed confused. 

She sighed. "Yes. I'm Mademoiselle Moss," and took the phone. 

"Donna?" he sounded stressed. 

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Josh." 

"Are you alright?" 

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?' 

"You're from Wisconsin. You don't know how to windsurf." 

"So? That's why I took a lesson. Actually I'm having lunch with my instructor right now," she smiled at Tim. "I'm hoping to make an appointment for another lesson tomorrow," she said, arching her eyebrow in question. 

Tim nodded affirmatively. 

"What's your instructor's name? What are her credentials? How old is she?" 

"His name is Tim. About 35, and I assume the fact that he can windsurf like a pro are his credentials," she said, glancing at the instructor who was, by that point, chuckling as he listened to her end of the conversation. 

There was silence, then, "Are you remembering to use sunblock? And don't forget to wear a life jacket when you windsurf?" 

"Yes, I'm wearing my sunblock and a life jacket. I've got to go. I'm going back for seconds at the lunch buffet. Bye." 

She handed the telephone back to the waiter. 

"Your father?" Tim asked. 

"My boss." 

Tim's eyes widened. "Kind of protective wouldn't you say?" 

Donna laughed. "Yeah, he's a worrier." 

"What do you do?" 

"I...I work for the government," she said, deliberately being vague. "How long have you been teaching windsurfing?" 

Tim checked his watch. "About two hours." 

"What?" 

"I'm the manager of this resort," he laughed. "One of the perks of working in a place like this is when I take a coffee break, I can go windsurfing." 

"And the instructor who was supposed to teach me?" she squeaked. 

"Is at the doctors. He got sick early this morning. Yours was the only lesson booked so I took it," he grinned. "Probably better for me than caffeine." 

"I shouldn't keep you," Donna demurred. 

"You're not," Tim insisted. "How about some coffee? 

"Mademoiselle Moss?" 

Donna looked up to see the waiter again holding a cell phone. 

"Josh," she said in her most exasperated voice. 

"Donna. You've got to check your e-mail. There's a problem with HR 496. What's her name...the assistant you found..." 

"Elizabeth, Josh. Her name is Elizabeth." 

"Well Elizabeth has managed to piss off Congressman Johnson." 

"You mean you managed..." 

"No. It wasn't me. She scheduled a meeting for Leo, Johnson, and Smithers." 

"You can't put Johnson and Smithers in the same room," Donna objected. 

"Yes, Donna," he said impatiently "I know that. You know that, but apparently what's her name..." 

"Elizabeth." 

"She doesn't know that." 

"But we need both men on board for the campaign," Donna protested. She looked up to see Tim looking at her quizzically. 

"Look, I'll go back to my room and go online. I'll e-mail you once I've smoothed things over." 

"Thanks," there was a pause. "Are you taking another windsurfing lesson soon?" 

"Goodbye, Josh," and she clicked off the phone. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to take my coffee to go," Donna said, standing. 

"That's some government job you've got." 

Donna blushed. "This was a busy time. I probably shouldn't have left. I need to get online quickly." 

"Have dinner with me?" 

"I'm not sure..." 

"I can get you the best seat in the house," Tim laughed. 

"I'm with my friend," Donna objected. 

"She can join us," he insisted. 

Donna smiled. "In that case, see you later." 


	4. Vacation Plans 4

**Vacation Plans**

**by:** Evelyn

**Disclaimer:** Aaron Sorkin owns everything.  
**Category:** Romance, Josh/Donna  
**Spoilers:** Everything through Season 3  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Author's Note:** Isn't an Amy-free universe delightful?

I'm making the assumption that Mr. Sorkin will return to an Amy-free universe by the first commercial break in September. And maybe this is what happens next! :-) 

Many thanks to Shelley for her wonderful editing and great insight into all things Sorkin. And, most definitely, for keeping the faith and making sure the rest of us do too!

* * *

>   
> __  
> To: DMoss@whitehouse.gov  
>  From: LMcGarry@whitehouse.gov  
> Subject: Cake isn't enough
> 
> Are you wearing your life jacket when you windsurf? 
> 
> There, I asked the question which has been raised in conversation by your boss fourteen times while trying to salvage HR 496. 
> 
> Good job with Johnson. He should like the shells you promised, plus the rum. 
> 
> But you owe me an entire Chef Patrick Gateau, plus maybe an order of that shrimp for putting up with your idiot boss the past three days. 
> 
> Leo 
> 
> P.S. Who the hell is Tim? I've managed to call off the audit. 

Once again, she awoke at 6:30 and reached for the phone, remembering a moment later that there was no phone in her bedroom and no need to call anyone. She was a little surprised to find just how much she missed cajoling someone out of bed each morning. She snuggled back down, drifting off as she wondered if Piazza had struck out against Mays. 

When Donna awoke again four hours later, she lay in bed, lazily planning the day and reviewing the previous evening. Dinner had been delicious, plentiful, and relaxing. A refreshing change from the constant diet of white carton take-out she'd been grabbing for months. 

She, Susan, and Tim had dined on lobsters, prawns, scallops, accompanied by lots of white wine. Susan had decided to call it an early night, but Donna and Tim had stayed to listen to a wonderful jazz combo in the lounge. The music was delightful, but she'd wondered what pieces Yo-Yo Ma was playing at the NEA reception. She hoped Josh remembered to bring home the program. 

"So, what exactly do you do for the government?" he asked in between sets. 

"I work in the White House," she confessed. 

"And you like that kind of constant pressure? When's the last time you had a vacation? 

She laughed. "The only time you get a vacation in the White House is if you lose...which we don't intend to do." 

"So this is your first break in...?" 

"Four years," she admitted. 

"And your boss has called you how many times in the two days you've been here?" Tim pushed. 

She rolled her eyes and grinned. "He is incorrigible." 

The combo started to play. "Want to dance?" he asked. 

She demurred, preferring to just sit and listen to the music, and the sweet memories of other musical performances. 

Donna's reveries were interrupted by abrupt knocking. She shrugged on her robe and padded barefoot to the door. Once again she found the same white-jacketed waiter holding a cell phone. She reached for her purse and tipped the man generously. 

"Bonjour, Josh," she said with a smile, wandering back to the bedroom. 

"You haven't checked your e-mail," he accused. 

She climbed back into bed. "I'm not up yet." 

"It's almost 10:00." 

"Actually close to 11:00 my time." 

"When's your windsurfing lesson?" There was a note of something in his voice. She just couldn't tell what. 

"Actually I decided to cancel it." 

"That makes sense," and she could hear the approval in his voice. 

"Since this is my last full day, Tim is going to take me snorkeling." 

There was silence on the other end until she finally asked, "Are you there? Did we lose the connection?" 

"What do you know about this gomer?" 

"Nothing much. Turns out he's the manager of the resort. He's lived here for the last seven years. Completely non-political. I don't think he even voted in the last two elections, but don't worry, I'm sending him an absentee ballot for this November," she offered. 

The silence continued until she again broke it. "How was the reception last night?" 

"Crowded and Sam told me my bowtie was crooked." 

"Sorry," she giggled. "Did you get Yo-Yo Ma's autograph?" 

"No. But he's playing at the Kennedy Center next month and he said to bring you backstage after the performance." 

"Are you kidding me?" she yelped, sitting up straight in bed. 

"Of course that assumes you decide to return from your island adventure." 

"I don't know, Josh. Tim's been trying to convince me that life as a beach bum has its rewards." 

There was a strangled noise on the other end. 

"So tell me," she continued. "What happened last night with the Mets." 

"The Mets?" he chirped. 

"Yup. The International Herald Tribune doesn't have the late scores." 

"Never underestimate the Amazin's, Donnatella. They're kind of like the President. You can never count them out," he crowed. 

Donna snuggled back into bed as Josh discussed in much detail the incredible, come from behind, ninth inning rally, that gave them the win and landed the Mets in second place behind Atlanta. 

"And the Yankees?" Donna teased. 

"Let's just say that Toby is even more morose than usual," he chuckled. 

"I got you a present," Donna offered. 

"Yeah?" came the excited reply. 

"It's a surprise and let me assure you that it doesn't involve the smoking of any four-legged animals." 

"Ouch." 

She laughed, and then turned serious. "Everything okay with Johnson?" 

"Good save, Donna. Thanks for handling that." 

"How's Elizabeth?" 

"Back in the temp pool." 

"Josh, what are you going to do for an assistant?" 

"Bother you," he laughed. 

"I'm not spending my last full day in Paradise chained to a computer," she pouted. 

"Look, just go check your e-mail, tell me what to do for a couple of those problems, then go look at fish," he said seriously. 

"Sounds fair." 

"And don't forget to use sunblock." 


	5. Vacation Plans 5

**Vacation Plans**

**by:** Evelyn

**Disclaimer:** Aaron Sorkin owns everything.  
**Category:** Romance, Josh/Donna  
**Spoilers:** Everything through Season 3  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Author's Note:** Isn't an Amy-free universe delightful?

I'm making the assumption that Mr. Sorkin will return to an Amy-free universe by the first commercial break in September. And maybe this is what happens next! :-) 

Many thanks to Shelley for her wonderful editing and great insight into all things Sorkin. And, most definitely, for keeping the faith and making sure the rest of us do too!

* * *

It was the last breakfast in paradise. The croissants were buttery delicious. The fruit delectable. Susan was finishing her packing, while Donna sat on the patio of their cottage, sipping dark Columbian coffee and debating the merits of eating another Danish. 

She glanced at her watch...again. She'd been up for several hours and still no e-mail from Josh. Nor had there been any visits from her friendly, cell-phone-toting waiter. She turned on her laptop. 

> __  
> To: JLyman@whitehouse.gov  
>  From: DMoss@whitehouse.gov  
> Subject:

There was a knock at the door. Donna smiled and reached for her purse, pocketing a twenty dollar bill. 

"Mademoiselle Moss?" the waiter said with a grin, handing her the cell phone. 

"Merci beaucoup," she replied, handing him the tip. 

"Bonjour, Donnatella," came the cheerful voice. 

"Bonjour, Joshua," she answered, weaving her way through the living room, back to the patio, and settling down into the lounge chair. She closed her laptop. 

"You packed?" 

"Alas I am." 

"How were the fish?" 

"Oh my God, Josh. We went to Pain de Sucre, an islet off Gustavia harbor. The coral reef was so magnificent, and the colors and variety of fish were breathtaking. When I get back we've got to do something about the coral reef off Key West. It's in serious danger of erosion, Josh." 

"That can be your project," he agreed. 

"Probably requires a site visit," she mused. 

Josh snorted. "Don't even think of it. Leo said to tell you that you can forget ever taking another vacation day unless you take me with you." 

"That could be easily arranged." 

"You'd take me back to your island paradise?" 

"In a heartbeat." 

"Not so sure that your pal Tim would be so happy to see me." 

"He'd be thrilled that you weren't tying up his cell phone anymore," she laughed. 

"Soooo, what time does your flight arrive?" he asked. 

"You're really going to make me come in this afternoon," she pouted. 

"No. I just thought I'd pick you up," he offered hesitantly. 

"You don't have to. Susan's boyfriend is meeting us." 

"Well, he can take her home and..." 

"We can go into the office, I know. It's okay, I'll have him drop me off at the White House." 

"No. I just thought maybe you'd like to grab something to eat." 

"At a restaurant?" 

"It won't be the lavish buffets you've gotten used to..." he teased. 

"Maybe some pizza?" she asked. "I haven't had pizza in a looong time. Wait! Don't the Mets play Atlanta tonight?" 

"First pitch is at 7:05." 

"The plane touches down at 4:30." 

"I thought you wanted to go to a restaurant." 

"Nope. Beer, pizza, and the Mets sound great to me." 

"I'll be there. So you're coming back to me?" 

"Just like I promised." 


End file.
